


Behind The Pink Bottle

by nagi_schwarz



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Sneaky Crossover, Supernatural Summergen Fic Exchange 2015
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-21
Updated: 2015-12-21
Packaged: 2018-08-18 06:37:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8152529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nagi_schwarz/pseuds/nagi_schwarz
Summary: Based on the following prompts: Prompt 1) Kate joins Garth's pack. Life as a friendly monster is sometimes tough, but it's easier when you're not alone. Prompt 2) During Claire's first summer in Sioux Falls she rediscovers two things she thought were lost forever; her childhood faith and a normal teenage life. Kate becomes a mentor. Claire isn't her little sister. There's school and a barn dance and discussions about faith. The key to the mysteries of the universe is behind that pink bottle.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Possibly mild religion-bashing, but no specific religion targeted; the story basically ignores the final episode of Season 10, since I'm guessing darkness spreading over the entire world would sort of ruin anything that might come after it

"I was a dentist," Garth said.  
  
Kate looked him up and down. He was leaning on his hoe, dusty in his denim overalls, too pink from the sun. In a few days he'd turn nut-brown.  
  
Kate, who was leaning on her own hoe, was confused. "What?"  
  
“Before I was a werewolf, I was a hunter. Before that, I was a dentist.” His smile was too genuinely kind to be condescending, but Kate hated it anyway. “It's okay to miss it.”  
  
Kate looked down at her own dusty overalls. “Miss what?”  
  
“What you had before,” Garth said. “You were going to be a lawyer, right?”  
  
Kate blinked. “Who told you that?”  
  
“Sam was going to be a lawyer.”  
  
Garth resumed swinging his hoe with practiced grace. “But now he has hunting, and Dean. I think he misses it sometimes. A lot of times. It's why he's in books a lot. So it's okay for you to miss it. But try to find something in the here and now too, okay?”  
  
“Okay,” Kate said, but it wasn't. She was a werewolf, not a hunter, and her sister was dead.  


 

*

  
Sam and Dean - those tall oafs whose massive shadows loomed large and spread to every corner of her life - had warned her that what happened to her would turn her world upside down. Kate hadn't expected being turned into a werewolf to turn her world backward five decades. She was a werewolf now, not Amish. She might have complained more about sitting on a rocking chair in the den and slowly crookedly stitching up tears in her clothes if Garth hadn't been right there alongside her and Bess, doing the same.  
  
Kate glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. He was as good at this sewing business as Bess was. An old battered radio was turned to some oldies station that played Free-bird every hour plus the occasional mournful Pink Floyd.  
  
“I have a job for you,” Garth said.  
  
Kate hated those words. Was it mucking out the horse stalls? Shucking corn? She kept sewing. “What job?”  
  
“Got a friend of a friend,” Garth said.  
  
Kate's hands stilled. Oh no. Was he setting her up on some kind of blind pity date with another werewolf or something?  
  
“She took in a couple of teenage girls,” Garth said. “Alex and Claire. She's looking for a mentor for Claire. I said I knew a fine young lady - smart, well-educated, hardworking. Claire was a guest of the foster care system for a good long time and needs some help adjusting. What do you say?”  
  
Kate glanced at Bess. She was beaming at Garth, like he was the smartest man in the world.  
  
“Does she know what I am?” Kate asked.  
  
Garth nodded. “She knows what all of us are.”  
  
“What's the catch?”  
  
Garth raised his eyebrows. “Catch?”  
  
“With the kid,” Kate said. “Is she a vampire? A baby hunter? What?”  
  
“You'd have to ask her,” Garth said.  
  
Kate resumed stitching, desultory. She remembered being in college with no cares in the world beyond her camera, her friends, her boyfriend, her family, and her dreams. She'd dreamed of being a lawyer and taking on big business, defending the environment from senseless selfish destruction.  
  
All of that had disappeared with a single poisoned bite.  
  
All of Kate's efforts to do good since then - saving her sister, protecting the world from herself with a silver knife - had gone terribly wrong. Now all of the good in the world she could muster up was mindless farm labor.  
  
She remembered that conversation with Garth from a week ago, standing around in overalls and learning on their hoes and playing farmer. What was keeping her going now? What did she dream about now?  
  
“Sure,” she said. “I'll say hi to your kid. See how it goes.”  


 

*

  
Garth arranged for Kate to meet her mentee, Claire, in Sioux Falls, South Dakota. Garth had some errands to run around those parts, and he'd get them done while Kate was making friends.  
  
The car ride was relatively quiet, except for Garth occasionally answering his cell phone. He'd promised Bess he was done with hunting, but he wasn't done helping, and he would answer lore questions for anyone who called. Kate ignored his low murmurs - _no, Tracy I said an olive tree, not a love tree, there’s no such thing_ \- and reread her copy of _The Lovely Bones_.  
  
She hoped her sister was in Heaven, surrounded by dogs and happy.  
  
By the time they made it to Sioux Falls, Kate had also finished _To Kill a Mockingbird_. That book was the reason she'd wanted to become a lawyer.  
  
Garth parked in front of a diner and followed Kate inside.  
  
His contact was an attractive woman with short dark hair and a sheriff's uniform.  
  
“Jody Mills, this is Kate,” Garth said.  
  
Sheriff Mills's handshake was brief, firm, confident. “Good to meet you, Kate.”  
  
“And you,” Kate said. She'd left her life behind, not her manners. “How do you two know each other?” Was this where Garth had lived before, when he was a dentist?  
  
“Hunting,” Sheriff Mills said.  
  
“Sam 'n' Dean,” Garth added.  
  
Sam and Dean. Always those two.  
  
An awkward pause swelled in the air between them.  
  
“Well, c'mon.” Sheriff Mills beckoned. “Claire's over here.”  
  
Kate followed the woman across the diner. Garth was hot on Kate's heels, and when Kate looked back at him, he wore an expression akin to a child about to see Disneyland for the first time. Who was this Claire character?  
  
She was sixteen or seventeen, with her dark gold hair pulled back in fancy corn rows. She had big blue eyes made bigger by her overdone eyeliner, and she was wearing a dark ratty hoodie.  
  
“Claire,” Sheriff Mills said, “This is Kate. She went to college.”  
  
Went, yes. Finished, no.  
  
Claire flicked her gaze over Kate, unimpressed. Her eyes were full of distrust.  
  
“Hi,” Kate said.  
  
Claire arched an eyebrow. Sheriff Mills cleared her throat pointedly, and Claire said, “Hi”.  
  
Sheriff Mills beamed. “We'll leave you ladies to it. C'mon, Garth, I think I uncovered one of Bobby's old book caches. Paranoid coot.”  
  
Claire was drinking coffee and picking at some fries.  
  
Kate slid into the booth opposite her.  
  
“So,” Claire said, “how'd you meet Sam 'n' Dean?”  
  
“They were hunting a werewolf.” Kate caught the waitress's eye and pointed at Claire's coffee mug then herself.  
  
Claire snorted. “They save your damsel-in-distress ass? They get off on that kind of heroic thing.”  
  
“Ah, no. I'm a werewolf.”  
  
Claire blinked. “Your head is still on your shoulders.”  
  
“I haven't killed any humans, so I get a pass I guess.”  
  
“You said you met Sam 'n' Dean on a hunt.” Claire said their names like they were a single unit, like Rogers and Hammerstein.  
  
“My professor was a werewolf too. He turned my boyfriend and his best friend, and they turned me, but I never ate any humans.”  
  
Claire snorted. “And Jody wants me to go to college.”  
  
It was strange, talking so openly about what had happened. Even with Garth and the rest of the pack, Kate had never casually discussed how she'd become one of them. Bess's voice was hushed whenever she spoke of before and after.  
  
Kate shrugged. “College was pretty cool, up to that point.”  
  
“So you didn't graduate.”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Are you going to?”  
  
“I'm not sure.”  
  
The waitress arriving with Kate's cup of coffee did little to ease the awkward weight that had settled over the corner booth. Kate poured two creamers and a packet of sugar into her coffee and used a swizzle stick to mix it all up.  
  
“Was it hard to get into college?” Claire asked.  
  
“I had to work hard,” Kate said, “but it didn't give me a nervous breakdown or anything.” Kate appreciated Claire making an effort to keep the conversation going. Judging by the sharpness of her gaze and the tension in her shoulders, she wasn't usually much for going easy on people. Kate sipped her coffee. She'd had much worse. “Do you want to go to college?”  
  
Claire shrugged one shoulder. “I'm not sure.”  
  
“What do you want to be when you grow up?”  
  
“I don't know. A hunter, maybe.” Claire's gaze strayed to a leather bound tome she'd pushed aside in favor of her plate of fries.  
  
“Does Sheriff Mills want you to be a hunter?” Kate didn't think so, not if she was encouraging Claire to try for college.  
  
“She says it's up to me, but she wants me to have options, so, college. Sam went to college,” Claire said. “Stanford. Almost graduated.”  
  
“Almost,” Kate murmured. The word tasted like unsweetened coffee on her lips. Why did everything in her life circle back to Sam and Dean?”  
  
“What college did you go to?” Claire asked.  
  
Kate took a deep breath and dredged up her memories of college that were Sam-and-Dean-free.  
  
Hours later, when Sheriff Mills and Garth returned, Claire and Kate were laughing over a prank Kate had pulled on her roommate, and they'd swapped phone numbers and email addresses. Sheriff Mills and Garth both looked pleased.  
  
Kate was pretty pleased too, until she was halfway back to the pack HQ and realized she knew nothing about Claire.  
  
Kate knew all about Sheriff Mills’s tragic backstory and all about Alexis, former vampire and Claire's foster sister. But Kate knew nothing about Claire, besides her name.  


 

*

  
Kate could do this. She'd made friends with strangers before. By the end of freshman year, she and her roommate Skylar had been pretty close, close enough to plan being roommates for the rest of college.  
  
Kate tried not to think about the rest of college.  
  
Instead, she started small. She'd send text messages with innocuous questions like _what's your favorite color?_ or selfies where she modeled farmer chic after hours in the hot summer sun.  
  
Claire would respond with _blue, you?_ and pictures of herself making a face with a blurry Alexis in the background.  
  
It wasn't much, but it was better than nothing. Kate learned that Claire's favorite song was _Shake It Off_ by Taylor Swift, and her favorite book was _Fahrenheit 451_. So Kate listened to Taylor Swift and read Ray Bradbury and wondered if Claire would really grow up to be a hunter.  
  
Claire started to ask questions beyond wondering what Kate's favorites were in turn, and so Kate told Claire about how she'd wanted to be a lawyer, and the basic elements of cinematography.  
  
One day while Kate was regretting not wearing at least fingerless gloves to pick some raspberries, Claire sent Kate a question she'd never expected.  
  
_Do you believe in heaven and hell?_  
  
Kate snorted. _No. A lot of supernatural weirdness is real, but that is taking it pretty far._  
  
Claire didn't reply for so many days afterward that Kate thought she'd somehow offended Claire (although how anyone who lived with a former vampire could be anything but atheist was beyond Kate).  
  
And then Kate started to wonder if Claire was hurt.  
  
Two weeks had gone by, and Kate had almost mustered up the nerve to ask Garth for Sheriff Mill's number when her phone rang. It was Claire.  
  
“Hey. School starts in two weeks. You should take me clothes shopping.”  
  
Kate was so relieved to hear Claire's voice - she didn't know why except Claire had become her escape from the humdrum of farm life - and she said yes without even thinking.  
  
Garth looked annoyingly smug, but he agreed to let Kate borrow his car to drive to Sioux Falls.  


 

*

  
Sheriff Mills and her house of unfortunate girls wasn't in Sioux Falls proper. Rather, it was on the outskirts, in a place rural enough to warrant a sheriff. Sioux Falls proper was a bustling metropolis compared to the rest of the state, which was good, because Kate had been afraid there would be nowhere to shop for clothes.  
  
“We could just go to Walmart,” Claire said. “They always bought our stuff at Walmart. Jody's on kind of a budget. Before, her husband had a job and they were only raising a little boy. Two teenage girls are more expensive, plus hunting’s expensive too.” She sat comfortably in the front seat of Garth's old beater, one arm resting on the passenger door, dangling tantalizing bits of other people's lives in front of Kate to avoid any personal topics.  
  
_They bought our stuff._ Garth had mentioned Claire had been in foster care. Runaway foster kids probably made the perfect meals for werewolves and vampires and other monsters. Kate wanted to ride that train of thought to the end of the line, rail against the injustice of it, but she refused to let Claire distract her.  
  
“Just because you're on a budget doesn't mean you're stuck going to Walmart,” Kate said. “Shopping at Walmart because you're on a tight budget only perpetuates the crushing grip corporate America has on the economically disadvantaged. We'll get your notebooks and stuff at the dollar store, and then we'll hit up vintage stores for clothes. If you want your clothes spiced up a bit, I can help. Bess taught me some tricks with a needle and thread.” In her early months at the werewolf farm, Kate had despised needlework, but once she accepted that everyone, regardless of gender, was pitching in, she decided it was relaxing.  
  
Claire said, “What about corporate America? I just need some new stuff for school.”  
  
Kate winced. Right. Rural midwesterners like Jody Mills were probably pretty conservative. And Claire probably spent most of her life worrying about getting sent to a new foster home instead of caring about politics.  
  
“Sorry,” Kate said. “I didn't mean to get all crazy on you. We can go to Walmart if you want.”  
  
“Nah,” Claire said. “I've been to Walmart hundreds of times. Let's go downtown.”  
  
“Okay.” Kate smiled, relieved.  
  
Claire had been in so many different schools that she had no idea what to expect for her class schedule. Kate had thought that a quick jaunt to the dollar store for school supplies would be a simple affair: one notebook per subject, a pack of her favorite types of pens, and a few one inch binders.  
  
Claire didn't know how many subjects she'd face and admitted she'd probably be behind in all of them. She also didn't have a favorite type of pen. The last time she'd been in one school for a steady amount of time, students were still required to use pencils.  
  
“Besides,” Claire said, counting eight notebooks into the basket Kate was carrying. “Pens are everywhere. Every house has pens. Clothes and a good pair of shoes - those are what matter most. When all your life fits in a garbage bag or a pillow case you don't bother keeping pens.”  
  
Kate nodded like Claire's wisdom was common sense and not depressing. Damn. Even while she'd been on the run, drifting from place to place, she'd always been safe, if only because she was a werewolf, and she'd always had everything she needed. Why had she been so emo about being a werewolf?  
  
The hunger.  
  
Kate smiled brightly. “I prefer the classic ballpoint - cheap, plentiful, and the ink doesn't get too smudgy if your notes get wet.” She added a pack to the basket. “However, for the aspiring artist, these fine tipped gel rollers are best, and you never know when you might need to stave off sleepiness in a boring class by creating the next Mona Lisa.” Kate added a pack of those to the basket. “And finally, for those who prize penmanship above all else, the pilot type rollerball pens.” Kate added them to the basket as well.  
  
Claire raised her eyebrows. “Do I really need that many pens?”  
  
“Yes. Sharing pens is a great way to make friends and meet boys,” Kate said. Her mother had always said the same thing,  
  
Claire's eyes lit up for a second, and then her expression smoothed itself out. “Oh! Boys. They're a waste of time.”  
  
Kate, who'd been studying a compass set so as to not tear up at the memory of her mother, frowned. “What makes you say that? Date the wrong guy?”  
  
“Nope. Just don't need drama. It's me, Alex, and Jody, and that’s enough.” Claire perused a selection of pencil cases with studied nonchalance.  
  
“I thought Jody was married once.”  
  
“She was. That was before, though. Things are different now.” Claire picked a plastic zipper bag for her new stash of pens. Kate grabbed some fine-tipped sharpies - Claire would need to label her belongings and notebooks.  
  
“Oh, well. You can never have too many pens.”  
  
“Unless you're supposed to fit your life in a pillowcase at the last moment.”  
  
“That won't be happening with Jody, though, will it?” Kate put a roll of tape in the basket, along with a stack of index cards.  
  
Claire huffed. “For a girl who doesn't believe in God, you're pretty naive.”  
  
Kate wasn't naive. She was a werewolf. She knew what went bump in the night. But she remembered Claire’s frosty text message silence and held her tongue.  
  
“Hey listen, about that text message I sent, when you asked if I believed in God, I didn't mean to offend you.”  
  
“I wasn't offended,” Claire said. “I just wanted to know how much you knew about hunting and the supernatural.”  
  
Kate searched Claire's expression for any hint that the younger girl was being polite, but Claire looked perfectly serious.  
  
Kate frowned. She knew Sam and Dean hunted monsters - werewolves and vampires and ghosts - but that was all. “The existence of of souls or spirits doesn't mean God is real. The Judeo-Christian tradition was hardly the first to consider the existence of souls.”  
  
Claire put a stapler in the basket. “It's real! All of it,” she said. “Shiva and Buddha, Zeus and Odin. And God. He's real. And he's left the building.”  
  
Kate followed Claire helplessly along the school supplies aisle. “Are you serious?” She kept her voice low.  
  
“As a heart attack.” Claire's voice was equally low. “C'mon. Let's go pay for this stuff, and while we're buying clothes I'll tell you all about it.”  


 

*

  
So they drifted through a series of thrift stores on the East Bank, and between questions about jeans and tops and jackets, Clair told Kate the truth.  
  
The world had almost ended no less than three times in the last decade, and Sam and Dean had been in the middle of it every time. Dean, with his trouty pout and quick draw; Sam, with his Fabio hair and perpetual disapproval of everything and everyone: they had saved the world. Angels were real. Demons were real. God was real.  
  
“Why haven't you told anyone?” Kate demanded.  
  
Claire, posing to model a sturdy denim jacket, laughed. “Dude, it's just like the Bible. Prophets have been writing this nonsense for years. Granted, the really accurate stuff has been marketed as fiction, but it's out there. No one wants to believe.”  
  
“Where can I find these books?”  
  
“Amazon, obviously.” Claire tugged impatiently at the hem of her jacket. “Well?”  
  
“Looks great,” Kate said.  
  
Claire raised her eyebrows.  
  
Kate took a deep breath. Then she smiled ruefully at Claire. “Sorry. It does look great. Do you like it?”  
  
Claire turned to study her reflection in the dressing room mirror. “Yeah. I do.”  
  
“Then let's get it.” Kate held out a hand. Claire shrugged off the jacket and handed it to Kate, who folded it and added it to the pile of clothes they'd accumulated in this store. Kate patted the pile absently and realized she was channeling her mother. Claire who'd closed the dressing room door to try on some more tops, didn't see the horror on Kate's face.  
  
She smoothed the expression away and cleared her throat. She'd realized something. In Claire's telling of the Winchesters heroism (Claire seemed unimpressed by the brothers personally but respectful of their sacrifices), she hadn't mentioned how she knew them. “So, did Jody tell you all that stuff about angels and demons? Does she want you to be a hunter?” From what Claire had told Kate, being a hunter was a poor career choice. At least Jody had a day job.  
  
“No.” Claire said.  
  
“Did you read the books?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Then how do you know it all?”  
  
There was silence from the other side of the dressing room door.  
  
Kate bit her lip. Had she crossed the line?  
  
Claire said, “I think I have enough clothes. Let's go get lunch. If I tell you this, you owe me food.”  
  
Kate nodded and picked up the stack of folded clothes.  


 

*

  
Over burgers, fries and shakes - being a werewolf had quickly put an end to Kate's vegetarianism - Claire told her story.  
  
“Remember how Sam and Dean were the vessels for the archangels, Lucifer and Michael?”  
  
Kate nodded. She suspected this conversation would require much nodding on her part and little speaking.  
  
“All angelic vessels are genetically predetermined. Demons can ride anyone, but not angels.”  
  
Demons could ride anyone? Or only humans? Kate squashed the urge to ask because Claire was speaking in a careful measured tone and studying her fries closely while she salted them, and she was practically vibrating with tension. One wrong word from Kate would send her running.  
  
“The angel Castiel who pulled Dean from Hell, who opened Purgatory and helped Dean close it - his vessel was my father. Me too, in a pinch. Not my mom, though. Demon rode her. Then an angel killed her.”  
  
Kate pressed her lips into a thin line. What could she say to that? Her family was still alive. Not her sister, but - that thought brought a pang that Kate quelled ruthlessly. She was here for Claire.  
  
“The worst part of it, though, is that angels need consent. Dad prayed to serve God, to help people, and God's answer was Castiel.” There was a hitch beneath the relentless bitterness in Claire's voice. “Dad raised me to believe in God, and when he finally came home after being Castiel's vessel, I was so confused about why he refused to pray before dinner. Turns out once you know God and his angels are real, you can't have faith in them anymore. Knowledge kills faith. Funny huh? You'd think knowing would justify your faith.”  
  
Kate nodded. That made sense.  
  
“It's pretty much the opposite. Knowledge kills faith. Killed my dad too.” Claire was building some kind of pyramid with her fries.  
  
“But you said Castiel was still helping Sam and Dean.”  
  
“When Lucifer killed Castiel in the cemetery, Dad's soul went to Heaven. When whoever brought Castiel back, it was in my father's body but there's no take-back with souls - unless you're Sam and Dean.” Claire put the final fry on the pyramid and sat back, eyed it critically. “After everything - Castiel leaving, Mom being possessed – Mom left me with Grandma. Grandma died. Mom stopped writing because an angel had caught her. And I became a 'troubled youth'.” Claire seemed more comfortable talking about her time in foster care. If her smirk was anything to go by, she was proud of her time as a foster kid, proud of being too much for any family to handle.  
  
“And then Sam and Dean and Castiel showed up and now I'm living with Jody.” Claire took a sip of her milkshake.  
  
“I'm guessing you quit going to church,” Kate said.  
  
Claire snorted. “Obviously.” Then she frowned. “Jody still goes to church.”  
  
“Even though she knows...?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
That made no sense to Kate, for whom religion made no sense anyway. “Did she say why?”  
  
“‘Lying on a bathroom floor choking on blood because of witch-craft makes a higher power seem relevant’.” Claire had a pretty serviceable imitation of Jody.  
  
“Choking on blood?” Kate echoed.  
  
“Blind date with the King of Hell,” Claire said. She dipped one of her fries in her milkshake. “Stay off of dating websites. Those places are rife hunting grounds for vampires and werewolves and ghouls on the prowl.”  
  
“But angels and God aren't anything like any church teaches,” Kate said.  
  
“Actually, they're a lot like the wrathful ones in the Old Testament.” Claire caught Kate's with gaze briefly, daring her to make fun of Claire for actually having read the Bible. “With the smiting and harsh judgments and all.”  
  
Maybe Kate was the silly one for refusing to believe in higher powers now that she knew werewolves and other supernatural creatures were real. “So it's all real. God, the devil, angels, demons, Heaven, Hell, Purgatory?”  
  
Claire nodded. “Yeah. But not like they say in church, for the most part. But everything else is real too. Greek gods, Hindu gods. They're weaker if they have no followers and they can be killed. They're still darn hard to kill, though. Or so Jody said. She helped Sam and Dean kill one  once.”  
  
“And Jody still goes to church?”  
  
“She says it's comforting, that it makes sense.”  
  
“Does she make you go?”  
  
“No. Whenever I see angels in stained glass windows I want to smash them. Alex goes sometimes, though. I think just to keep Jody company.”  
  
Kate wondered how anyone could go to church after learning even a fraction of what hunters knew. And yet the world had kept on turning this entire time, despite humanity's ignorance of reality. Kate's world had turned before she was made a werewolf and her world was still turning. All her life, she'd prided herself on her intellect and rationalism, scorning the irrationality of superstitious believers. And yet all the rationality and science in the world wouldn't have saved Claire's mom from a demon, but an old Latin prayer would have.  
  
“I'm sorry that happened to you,” Kate said finally.  
  
Claire shrugged, her expression defiant. “It didn't just happen to me. It happened to all of us. I just got to see behind the scenes the angels and the demons.” Claire sounded bitter rather than grateful for the additional information.  
  
Kate wished, every day that she'd never peeked at the man - the monster - behind the curtain. Then she asked, “What about Jesus? Is he real?”  
  
The old intellectual in Kate - the part of herself she thought she'd permanently sidelined when she realized finishing college and law school would never be an option - stirred to life. For centuries these questions had plagued humanity. Was any of it real? Were angels and demons real? Yes.  
  
Kate's internal glee died when she looked at Claire whose life had been torn apart by this knowledge. Maybe all the old legends about sacred knowledge being only for those prepared weren't entirely about religious oppressing the masses. Maybe the knowledge had been kept back to protect people. How were people supposed to protect themselves?  
  
Claire was halfway through her burger, and she paused at the question. “I don't know,” she said. “Doesn't matter, though. Because he hasn't helped either.”  
  
Did Garth know about angels and demons? He'd been a hunter once.  
  
“Do you need anything else for school?”  
  
“Do we have time for shoes?”  
  
Kate glanced at her watch. “Yeah. Eat fast.”  


 

*

  
“Yeah, I know all about angels and demons,” Garth said. He and Kate were sitting on the back porch shucking corn for the weekly communal potluck. “I was looking out for the prophet Kevin for a while, before Crowley nabbed him.”  
  
Prophet Kevin?  
  
“Poor Claire,” Garth said. “She's been through a lot. Jody says Claire says she had a lot of fun shopping with you.”  
  
“I'm glad,” Kate said, and it was true. Ever since their shopping trip, Claire had texted Kate daily. She was counting down the days till school started, and she accompanied her morning countdown text with a piece of hunting trivia: _dragons are a thing. It pays to sleep around_ or _you can cure a vampire as long as it hasn't tasted human blood and you have blood from its sire._  
  
Kate asked Garth about Claire's tips, and he was pleased at her interest in hunting (which, understandably, none of the others at the farm shared, especially not Bess). Garth mentioned most hunters kept their knowledge of lore recorded in journals, which made hunting difficult sometimes, because there was no central compendium.  
  
Kate ended up using a notebook to write down all of the hunting trivia Claire had sent her, as well as the cooking and farming tips she'd learned from Bess and Garth.  
  
“Is there a centralized werewolf compendium?” she asked Garth with they were out weeding the cornrows,  
  
Bess who'd been picking some green beans for supper, paused beside them, casting a welcome shadow over them. “Not an accurate one. Not written by werewolves. That kind of knowledge would be dangerous if written down, especially if hunters got their hands on it.” Bess cast her husband a pointed look.  
  
Garth didn't rise to the bait. He was unnaturally easygoing. “Why do you ask?”  
  
“I'm curious about my condition,” Kate said. “And all its variations.” Bess had been born a werewolf and could change at will, but unlike Kate, she didn't have enhanced senses or strength while in human form.  
  
Garth only changed at the full moon, and he never retained memories of what happened when he changed.  
  
“That's understandable,” Garth said. He glanced up at Bess. “I'll tell you what I know.”  
  
“I will too,” Bess said. “And if you write it down, at least include that we can be civilized.”  
  
“Of course,” Kate said. Was it fair, that being civilized meant being human? After all, humans were hardly the top of the food chain.  
  
Kate's hands stilled at the realization that, for the first time she'd thought of herself as not human. In the months after her change, she'd screamed and railed at being turned into a monster, but the monster had always been a shell forced on her. She was always human at her core.  
  
Not anymore.  
  
Not when she could hear Luke's truck rumbling up the lane a full minute before everyone else.  
  
“Sure,” she said. “I was pretty good at writing in college. I'm pretty sure I can compose an objective account.”  
  
Bess smiled. “Thank you.” Though she'd been born and raised as a werewolf, she'd also been born in rural Wisconsin as the daughter of a farmer reverend. College had never been an option for her.  
  
Kate said, “Luke's coming.”  
  
Luke owned the farm adjacent to theirs. Where most people in town respected the werewolf community, Luke was regarded with suspicion. Like Kate, he'd taken to farming because he was running from something. No real Wisconsin farmer spoke the Queen's English like he did. Even though he drove a pickup truck and wore sturdy boots and flannel skirts and had work-callused hands, he carried himself like he was a posture model from an etiquette class and something in the sharpness of his features reminded Kate of pictures she'd seen of pinched-face inbred British aristocrats.  
  
Garth and Bess looked confused, and then Bess shrugged it off and headed into the house. A minute later, Garth perked up, having heard the truck himself. People in town looked at Luke like they were Salem Puritans and he was Merlin incarnate, but no one could deny the quality of his squashes, zucchinis, and pumpkins, or his naturopathic remedies. He made his own sunblock, and it had to be good stuff, because he was pale as a ghost and had the kind of white blond hair Kate never saw on anyone past first grade.  
  
During the weekly farmers' market, Kate ended up helping Luke at his stall more often than not because Garth liked to help Bess with their own. If Kate hadn't known Luke had owned the adjacent farm for almost twenty years, she'd have suspected Garth of trying to set her up with their aloof neighbor.  
  
Luke parked beside the barn and killed the engine of his truck, then stepped out. He had boxes of produce in the back.  
  
Garth straightened, winced at the popping sounds in his back. “Luke. What have you got?”  
  
“Some aubergine, per Miss Kate's request. Also some zucchini, and some of that butternut squash Mrs. Fitzgerald likes so much,” Luke said. He heaved three boxes out of the truck and set them down.  
  
Garth whistled, and Jeremy and Jacob emerged from the barn to help get the boxes into the house. The promptness with which the two of them responded always reminded Kate of two dogs heeling for their master. From the amused arch of Luke's brow, he thought the same but like Kate, he knew better than to say so.  
  
“Kate,” Garth said, “help Luke pick some corn.”  
  
Luke had a quaint wicker basket in the cab of his truck. “Miss Kate need not trouble herself,” he said. “I only need enough for myself.”  
  
“And some to feed the chickens,” Garth pointed out before heading into the kitchen with the box of aubergine.  
  
“True,” Luke said ruefully. He glanced up at Kate through his lashes. “If you would be so inclined to assist.”  
  
“Any time.” Kate abandoned the little hook she used to weed and stood up, dusted off her hands. Together she and Luke picked through the corn rows in search of ripe ears, twisting them off the stalks and lowering them into the basket.  
  
“Have you decided what you'll be presenting at the county fair?” Luke asked.  
  
Kate blinked. “What?”  
  
“The county fair next month,” Luke said. “Mrs. Fitzgerald typically submits an embroidery sample. Mr. Fitzgerald offered up a prize hunting rifle he had restored. The Reverend usually shows a lamb or two.”  
  
“No one really mentioned it,” Kate admitted. These days her thoughts were filled with farming and Claire and the fact that she was no longer human. But come to think of it, Bess had been spending the majority her evenings of late sewing, and Garth had spent a lot of time in the workshop tinkering with...something.  
  
“Ah. It's quite the spectacle. Homemade food, barn dances, prizes.” Luke didn't sound particularly impressed.  
  
“What do you usually submit?” Kate asked.  
  
“Music,” Luke said. “There are artistic submissions.”  
  
“What kind of music?”  
  
“I play the violin. Alas, all my years here have not endeared Scarlatti or Vivaldi to the locals. They much prefer the fiddle.” Luke sniffed. “Have any of the local lords come courting? Even though this is not high school, much effort goes into the procurement of an escort for the dance on the first night of the festivities.”  
  
Kate paused mid-wrench of an ear of corn. Was Luke asking her out on a date?  
  
“No,” she said. “No one's asked me. Besides,” she added, suddenly inspired, “I'll have a friend in town, and I promised to show her around.”  
  
As soon as she was done harvesting corn, she'd text Claire and see if she wanted to visit for one last hurrah before school started.  
  
Luke's lips twisted like he was fighting a smile. “Of course.”  
  
“Are you asking anyone?” Kate asked.  
  
“I am not much one for barn dances,” he said, the same way Kate's mom said 'mosh pits'. “However, if pressed upon, I will stand up for a reel or two.”  
  
“Stand up?” Kate echoed. “Who are you, Mister Darcy?”  
  
“People keep asking me that, and I assure you, I've never met this Darcy fellow in my life.” Luke eyed the contents of his basket. “I believe this is sufficient. Thank you, Miss Kate. Have a lovely day.”  
  
“You too.” Kate said. Luke returned to his truck, and Kate puzzled over how he could be oblivious to an allusion to Pride and Prejudice. Oh well. She'd better see if Claire wanted to come see the county fair.  


 

*

_Like a sleepover?_ Claire asked.  
  
Kate studied the text message for a long moment. Mostly she'd thought of the invitation as just an offer for a visit, a mini-vacation before school.  
  
Another text message appeared.  
  
_Mom and dad never let me have sleepovers because they were sinful. And in foster care I couldn't go on them unless the adults in the house had background checks, and the other kids stopped asking me at all._  
  
Kate stared at her phone, flummoxed. She'd never been queen bee in high school, but she'd had a good circle of friends. She typed back. _Yeah. Just like a sleepover._  
  
Claire's response was a smiley emoticon and a thumbs up emoji.  
  
Kate realized she had zero sleepover supplies.  


 

*

  
Kate couldn't decide. Should she spring for base coat and top coat and only a couple of colors or should she splurge for a whole bunch of colors or should she skip the colors altogether and buy a full manicure set?  
  
“The key to the mysteries of the universe is behind that pink bottle,” Luke said.  
  
Kate jumped startled. How the hell had he sneaked up on her? No one could sneak up on her. She turned and smiled at Luke who had a basket over one arm and was filling it with first aid supplies, from the looks of things.  
  
“Luke,” she said. “I didn't realize you were so stealthy.”  
  
“Constant vigilance, Miss Kate.” He smiled faintly. “You were staring at the nail paint rather intently.” He said _nail paint_ instead of _nail polish_. Was it an English thing?  
  
“Yeah. Just trying to decide what to get.” Myers Farm was productive enough that no one ever went without, but Kate didn't have nearly as much disposable income as she had before.  
  
“What is the occasion? Not the county fair barn dance. I had thought you had no suitor to impress.”  
  
Two years ago, Kate wouldn't have considered any of the flannel-clad young men a potential date, let alone a suitor. As a college student, she'd preferred more worldly types - educated, erudite, witty. Then she'd been bitten, and all thoughts of dating and romance had gone out the window.  
  
“No, no suitors to impress. My friend is coming into town, and we're going to have a sleepover.”  
  
“And you wish to impress your friend?”  
  
“She - had a difficult childhood,” Kate said. “And she's never had a sleepover before.”  
  
“I am given to understand, from my brief foray into chick flicks, that sleepovers are an important adolescent bonding ritual, and a first sleepover for a teenage girl is an important rite of passage.” Luck tapped his chin, expression thoughtful. “I can see why you're desperate to impress.”  
  
Kate eyed the contents of her basket - _Seventeen, Glamour,_ cotton balls, emery boards - and sighed. “Thanks Luke. That's really reassuring.” Would Claire - who'd seen Heaven and Hell and everything in between - even care about painting her nails or having crushes on boys?  
  
The amusement slid off of Luke's face, and Kate wondered what he'd seen in her face, that he'd stopped toying with her. “In my limited experience with people who've had awful childhoods and are seeking normalcy later than their peers, what they want is...normalcy. So let them experience the ritual as typically as possible, and if they care to experience the ritual again, they'll let you know of any variations they prefer.”  
  
Kate wondered which he was, the friend or the person with the awful childhood. “Were you a psychologist or something before?”  
  
No one knew what Luke had been before. Kate wondered if she'd done something horrible by asking, but it was too late to take the words back.  
  
Luke, however, shrugged the question aside. “What else does a sleep over entail besides that?” He prodded her basket.  
  
“A manicure,” Claire said. “Usually the whole shebang - base coat, two layers of paint, designs if you're talented, top coat.”  
  
Luck blinked. “Let's pretend I understood any of that. Then what's your dilemma?”  
  
“I need to buy a movie and chocolate ice cream, and I'm not sure if I should skip the full manicure in favor of more color options or do the full manicure,” Kate said.  
  
Luke nodded slowly. Kate wondered if she should've asked Garth or Bess for advice instead, but both of them were busy finishing up their projects for the fair.  
  
“What is the purpose of the manicure?” Luke asked. “Besides beautifying the hands obviously.”  
  
Kate paused. “I don't know that there's a specific purpose. It's just one of those things you do at a sleepover.”  
  
“Is the purpose artistic experiment? To decorate oneself in as many colors as possible?” Luke eyed the veritable rainbow of nail polish bottles.  
  
“No," Kate said slowly. She thought back on the sleepovers she'd had. “Usually while one of us paints, someone else reads out one of the magazine quizzes, and we all take turns answering.”  
  
“Then perhaps a more thorough manicure is preferable,” Luke said. “Quizzes though? I had not thought sleepovers were particularly academic occasions.”  
  
Kate laughed at his confused expression. “Not those kinds of quizzes.”  
  
“I should hope not. Well, I wish you well in your social endeavor. I shall see you, I suspect, at the fair.” Luke actually bowed his head at her a little before taking his leave. She was surprised he hadn't murmured a _Miss Kate_ before going.   
  
Kate grabbed the appropriate bottles of nail polish and moved on to the next aisle. She'd have to pick Claire up from the Greyhound station in a couple of hours.  
  
Which movie should they watch?


	2. Chapter 2

Even though Kate spent the majority of her days working with Garth and Bess, she didn't actually live with them. She'd instead been bequeathed the little bungalow that had belonged to Joba and what's-his face. Russ.  
  
Claire had raised her eyebrows in surprised amusement when Kate rolled into the bus station in the old farm truck, but Bess had thought it best that Claire have the complete farm experience. Kate wasn't going to make Claire muck out the stables, but she did take the scenic route around the fields to the main farmhouse to introduce Claire to Bess and say hi to Garth.  
  
“Should I get my bag out of the truck?” Claire asked after Bess bustled back into the kitchen to check on her apple pie.  
  
“Nope,” Kate said. “Back in the truck. We're staying at my place.”  
  
“You have your own place?” Claire looked envious.  
  
“I am an adult,” Kate said dryly. “I've lived on my own for a while now. My place used to belong to a couple of bachelors so it's not as cute as Bess and Garth's, but it's clean.”  
  
The drive from Garth's to Kate's was short enough that she usually walked it, but Kate took Claire on the rest of the scenic route around the farm.  
  
“It's huge,” Claire said. “How do you manage?”  
  
“We have farming equipment, so it's not all done by hand,” Kate said. “Also, you know, werewolves. Stronger, faster, better endurance than regular humans.” She parked beside her own little barn and cut the engine.  
  
“But during the full moon, don't you lose productivity?” Claire grabbed her bag out of the truck bed and followed Kate up the steps to the porch, waited while Kate unlocked the front door. Most people around here never bothered to lock their doors, but Kate had lived cautiously for a long time, and Garth, a former hunter, said that sometimes a locked door gave a monster pause just long enough to spring a trap or for a defense mechanism to kick in.  
  
The front door opened to a living room with a comfy couch, coffee table, TV, and small desk for Kate's laptop. The living room opened to the kitchen, a small bathroom, and the cellar. Two bedrooms and a bigger bathroom were upstairs. “Guest room's on the left,” Kate said. “Head on up, get comfy.”  
  
Claire nodded and started for the stairs, paused.  
  
“Don't worry,” Kate said. “Garth monster-proofed all the houses for the pack. We've been Garthed.”  
  
Claire winced. “That doesn't sound right.”  
  
“It never does,” Kate agreed. “Now go on. As soon as you're done we're going to the fair.”  
  
“Will there be a barn-raising?” Claire asked.  
  
For a moment, Kate thought she was serious, but then Claire smirked and headed up the stairs. Kate hoped Claire would have fun. They were both trying, for their hunter friends' sakes. Kate wondered if it would be enough - for either of them.  


 

*

  
Having grown up in Wisconsin, Kate was familiar with the trappings of county fairs. Claire, who'd grown up in suburbia and then was a guest of an urban-run child welfare system, only knew about county fairs from television and movies. She'd changed into a button down flannel shirt befitting a rodeo queen, which Jody had apparently purchased especially for the occasion; a pair of non-ripped, non-skinny jeans; and a massive silver belt buckle that featured some wings-and-gun design.  
  
Kate, who was wearing a clean pair of non-work jeans and a non-work shirt, raised her eyebrows.  
  
“I just want to fit in,” Claire said, eyes wide and too guileless to be innocent.  
  
Kate remembered how Tasha had insisted on dressing like a rodeo queen the first time their parents let them go to the fair on her own, and she shrugged. “Okay. Come on.”  
  
The fairgrounds were located on the east side of the town opposite the farm, and the dusty parking lot was full of cars and trucks. Kate parked in the first space she could find.  
  
“So what are we going to do? Tip cows? Ride bulls?” Claire was looking around, gaze frank and assessing.  
  
“Leave bull riding to the professionals if you know what's good for you.” Kate smiled faintly, amused. “Although if you want to watch the rodeo, no one looks better in tight jeans than a cowboy.”  
  
Claire raised an eyebrow. “You trying to set me up?”  
  
“Just pointing out some potential entertainment.” Kate paid the entrance fee for both of them, and they passed beneath the white wrought iron gate arch. The fairgrounds consisted of a perimeter dirt road, which enclosed various stables and pens for the show livestock, and several massive industrial barns where food vendors, craft vendors, and various competition entries were displayed. There was also a rodeo stadium with aluminum bleachers and glowing, spinning carnival rides.  
  
“The plan,” Kate said, “is to ride the carnival rides till we're sick, eat food till we're sicker, then win ridiculous stuffed animals at the carnival games. After that we'll check out the vendor booths, eat some more, look at the competition entries, and get in a couple of dances.”  
  
Claire eyed the glowing Ferris wheel shrewdly. “Okay.”  
  
Kate felt relief loosen the knot. that had furled beneath her breastbone. Tasha was always afraid of half of the roller coasters, but she'd always gone with Kate anyway.  
  
“This one first,” Claire said, staring up at the spinning cages on The Zipper. She arched an eyebrow at Kate. “You're not going to puke are you?”  
  
“No,” Kate said. This was her favorite ride. “Are you going to scream?”  
  
Claire snorted disdainfully. “No. Are you?”  
  
“Of course.” Kate handed the carnie two ride coupons. She'd never screamed in wordless terror, not once, not since she'd become a werewolf.  
  
Lycanthrope was the new preferred term. Garth reminded her long after Bess had given up. Kate refused to scream in terror over the supernatural, but, as her little sister once said, screaming was cathartic.  
  
The carnie, a sullen-faced red haired boy, strapped them into their cage with practiced smoothness, recited the safety warnings without enthusiasm, and then the ascent began.  
  
Kate didn't scream immediately. Claire's grip on the safety bar was white-knuckled, and she was glaring at the cage gate like she was challenging it to a fistfight. Kate held her breath and felt her adrenaline build as the cage accelerated, rising, falling. And then the cage tipped forward, rolled, and Kate couldn't help it. She screamed. Tasha would have laughed and screamed alongside her. Claire wasn't going to scream for anyone or anything, it seemed. She was going to defeat the machine.  
  
The ride ended all too soon, as carnival rides always do, and the carnie unlocked the cage and safety bar.  
  
Kate landed on her feet with a whoop smoothed a hand over her disheveled hair. The last time she'd faced this ride, she'd been dizzy, but her new werewolf body had a much better equilibrium - and adrenaline response.  
  
Claire, however, looked less than amused by the ride.  
  
'You okay?” Kate asked. When Claire nodded, Kate didn't believe her, but then she said, “Let's go on all the rides. All the rides but the gravitron.”  
  
Kate eyed the giant spinning hamster wheel. It generated enough force to pin riders against the white steel. If they timed it right, they could stick to the wall with their feet off the ground.  
  
“Sure,” Kate said.  
  
“Being pinned like that,” Claire said. “It's what possession feels like.” Her gaze was flat.  
  
Kate swallowed hard. “Okay. How about the Ring of Fire, then?”  
  
Claire hummed a Johnny Cash tune. “All right.”  
  
By the time they were done riding all but one of the rides, Claire felt a little sick, so Kate bought her ginger ale, but they bought funnel cakes and donut holes and pretzels, churros and cotton candy, and sat on one of benches to share their bounty. Kate asked Claire about school, and Claire described the school registration process, which was awkward, because everyone at school knew Sheriff Jody and also someone had to forge papers for Claire, as she was technically still in state’s custody in Illinois.  
  
“The best thing about this high school,” Claire said, “is it has Latin classes.”  
  
Kate had taken Latin in high school. “You interested in law or medicine or something?”  
  
The disdain in Claire's expression was disarmed by the cotton candy staining her mouth. “No. But a lot of protective rituals are in Latin. Not to mention Latin grammar is a good base for learning other dead languages useful for rituals.”  
  
Kate bit her lip. “So you're going to be a hunter?”  
  
“No,” Claire said. She nibbled at the cotton candy some more. “But I'm not going to leave myself vulnerable either.”  
  
Kate nodded. “Fair enough.” She knew Garth had added protection to all of the pack members' homes but could any of them defend themselves otherwise? “I took Latin when I was in school. I can help you.”  
  
'Thanks,” Claire said. “To be honest, to protect yourself on the fly all you have to do is memorize a couple of Catholic rituals, but I'd like to be able to customize my protections if necessary.”  
  
Kate, about to pop a donut hole in her mouth, paused. “Really? Catholic rituals?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“You don't have to be an ordained priest or anything?”  
  
Claire shrugged. “Nope.”  
  
“Just because God and angels and demons are real, doesn't mean any specific religions are real, right?”  
  
“Yeah. But the rituals work and that's all that matters.” Claire finished off the cotton candy and reached for a pretzel. “But if you’re dealing with Greek gods or something, then Greek magic works.”  
  
Kate eyed Claire to see if she was joking, but Claire's expression was frank and guileless.  
  
“So do you think going to a church and learning prayers would help?” Kate asked.  
  
“Depends on the church and the prayers, I guess.” Claire raised her eyebrows. “You thinking of going to church?”  
  
“Indeed, Sister Katherine, will you be joining us this Sunday?” Reverend Myers paused beside the bench.  
  
Kate was grateful for the shadow he cast and not much else. “Reverend,” she said politely.  
  
“Is this your little sister, then?” Reverend Myers turned his friendly _have you been saved?_ smile on Claire.  
  
Kate's throat closed.  
  
Her sister was dead.  
  
If she hadn't been selfish, if she hadn't fallen in love with the wrong boy, if she'd gone to a different college, it would be Tasha sitting beside her trying to steal her funnel cake.  
  
“I'm not her sister,” Claire said warily.  
  
Reverend Myers frowned. “Garth told me you'd signed up to be a mentor with the Big Sister program."  
  
“Oh. Yes. Claire is my mentee,” Kate said, her voice returning. “Claire this is Reverend Myers. Bess's father. He is the leader of our pack.”  
  
“Pretty sure there's a lame doo wop song about that,” Claire said without missing a beat.  
  
As a earnest Evangelist, Reverend Myers was used to being rebuffed. “Ours is not so much a religion as much as it is spirituality.”  
  
Claire straightened up with a gleam in her eye that made Kate nervous. “So you're a reverend but you don't believe in God or angels or demons?”  
  
“We believe in a higher power. It's convenient to conceptualize it as God, but we don't believe in a God who is some kind of all powerful paternal figure.” Reverend Myers was getting into his sermon cadence.  
  
Claire said, “I don't believe in God, but I know he's real, as are his feathered minions and their sulfurous nemeses.”  
  
Reverend Myers frowned. “My dear child, God is simply a metaphor for understanding the chaos of the universe.”  
  
“Says the lycanthrope.”  
  
“The existence of superhuman species does not presuppose a sentient creator,” Reverend Myers said kindly.  
  
“The existence of the angels who killed my father and mother do,” Claire said. “They call themselves angels of the lord, did you know?”  
  
Reverend Myers cleared his throat. “Sister Katherine, I didn't realize your mentee - -”  
  
“Got burned by crossing paths with hunters, same as so many of us,” Kate said quietly.  
  
Reverend Myers sucked in a sharp breath at _hunters_.  
  
Claire stood up. “I'm not hungry anymore,” she said. “I'll see you at the ring toss.” And she walked away.  
  
Kate was the only member of the pack who didn't attend church, and she avoided arguing with the reverend as a courtesy to Bess. “I'm sorry. Claire grew up devout, and when she found out it was all real her life fell apart.”  
  
Reverend Myers frowned. “You'd think- -”  
  
“Yeah, you would. I better go. Good seeing you, sir.” Kate gathered up the rest of the food and hurried after Claire.  


 

*

  
Kate and Claire said little to each other at the ring toss. Kate had never been particularly good at carnival games before. Apparently, being an alpha-bloodline werewolf made her awesome at them. After the first few games Kate purchased a recyclable bag to carry all the little stuffed animals she won. She let Claire pick most of them, since Claire wasn't winning.  
  
At the cap gun stall, Claire finally said, “What are you, Lady James Bond?”  
  
“Ah, no. I'm Double O Team Jacob, remember?”  
  
“But it's not the full moon.” Claire lowered her voice.  
  
“I'm not restricted by the lunar cycle,” Kate said.  
  
“Oh.” Claire sighed and admitted defeat, set down the cap gun. She cast Kate a sidelong glance. “So, what did Garth do for you?”  
  
“What do you mean?” Kate added another stuffed animal to her collection.  
  
“Did Garth save your life or something?”  
  
Kate resisted the urge to snort derisively. “No.”  
  
“So...why are you hanging out with me?”  
  
Kate paused. She'd never heard uncertainty in Claire's voice before. “That's a complicated question.” She was trying to find a purpose in her life. Also she felt like the other lycanthropes, who'd been part of the pack for years or were even born wolves, didn't understand how Kate was still reeling with the reality of being a werewolf two years after the change. For two years she'd been treading water, and she wasn't convinced that she'd touch down on solid ground if she stopped.  
  
“You don't like me, do you?” The defiance in Claire's voice didn't hide the quaver in it.  
  
Kate frowned. “What makes you think that?”  
  
“The look on your face when the preacher guy asked if I was your little sister.”  
  
Oh. Kate swallowed hard. “No, Claire. I just - my little sister. Tasha.”  
  
“You have an actual sister?”  
  
“She's dead. She was like me, but she killed humans so hunters killer her.” Kate kept her voice low and steady.  
  
“I'm sorry,” Claire said. “I mean, being made a werewolf against your will is like being possessed forever. But if your sister...”  
  
“She was dying. Car crash. I thought turning her would save her. All I did was kill her, even if her heart kept beating.” Kate swallowed again. “So, um, how about I put these stuffed animals in my car, and we move on?”  
  
Claire nodded. “Sure.”  
  
“Okay. Wait here.” Kate turned, fumbling for her keys.  
  
“Am I like her?” Claire asked.  
  
“No,” Kate said.  
  
“Oh.”  
  
“That's okay.” Kate met Claire's gaze. “I'm not looking for a little sister.”  
  
“What are you looking for?”  
  
“Someone who understands.”  


 

*

  
Both Claire and Kate kept their conversation light and cheerful as they explored the vendor booths. Many other members of the pack were also at the fair, and when they paused for introductions, Kate told them Claire was a friend from out of town who was visiting before she went back to school in the fall. Claire was polite, watching the werewolves warily, and shook hands when bidden.  
  
Between admiring costume jewelry and chatting with every werewolf in the county, Kate and Claire were in the vendor hall for a couple of hours, and Claire was more than ready to move on to the food court.  
  
She was most interested in gyros and dolmathes, so they stood in line at Niko's and carefully counted their money.  
  
They were almost at the front of the line when panic crossed Claire's face.  
  
“Kate!” she hissed. “Can you even eat any of this?”  
  
“Yes,” Kate said. “You did see me eating earlier, right?”  
  
“Well yeah, but...” Claire scrunched up her nose in confusion.  
  
“I eat pretty much whatever I want, but it doesn't do me any good. To stay alive I need, well...”  
  
“Oh. Okay.” Claire bit her lip. “Was that easier, then? When you were on the road? Not needing to buy food?”  
  
“It was cheaper,” Kate admitted. “Not sure if it was easier.” Hunting had a steep learning curve. Kate risked someone stealing all her worldly possessions if she transformed fully to hunt, but hunting as a human had always been awkward.  
  
Now she only needed to buy a few animal hearts a month from the local butcher, but sitting at Sunday dinner with the rest of the pack felt like a farce too. Wolves didn't sit at tables and eat off the best china. Unlike the bitten, who were definitely human for the majority of the month and wolves only for the full moon nights, the borns and the pure blooded were something else, capable of maintaining human form indefinitely but with the wolf always clawing beneath their skin. Kate felt a little more human when she ate human food. It tasted just as good as it had before but it never took the hunger away.  
  
“I used to wonder how it would be to never have to eat,” Claire said. “Would've made things easier sometimes.” Shadows shuttered her gaze. “Castiel didn't ever have to eat.”  
  
For all that Kate knew angels existed - the same way vampires and demons and ghosts existed - she couldn't fathom ever meeting one. Or being one. She bit her lip. “What was it like?”  
  
“Like being strapped to a comet,” Claire said softly.  
  
They shared gyros, dolmathes, and a huge piece of baklava, and then they bought some milkshakes to take on their tour of the competition displays.  
  
Kate had seen Bess working on her embroidery project, had seen fragments of it from strange angles and when they reached the fiber arts display, Kate wasn't sure she'd recognize Bess's handiwork.  
  
“What's this doing here?” Claire paused in front of what looked like a colored pencil rendering of a wolf. “Shouldn't it be with the drawings and stuff?” She'd confessed a fondness for drawing. It was a practical hobby for foster kids, because paper and pencils were cheap.  
  
Kate nodded. “Yeah. You'd think a drawing would - ” And then she paused, tilted her head. “That's Garth.”  
  
Claire blinked. “What?”  
  
Kate would know that wiry, shaggy-coated brown wolf anywhere. “Garth. In his wolf form.”  
  
Claire peered closer. “No way! That's embroidery? I can barely see the thread.”  
  
“Wow. Bess is really good.” Kate's heart thumped oddly in her chest. She'd always thought of Bess as a simple, country bumpkin, but she had the patience and skill to do this. What could Claire do? Nothing that fine or complex. Stitching flowers and stars on her pockets didn't count.  
  
“Let's go see Garth's entry.”  
  
Claire ducked around the embroidery display and headed for another section of the exhibit.  
  
Kate didn't know enough about antique breech-loading muskets to tell which might be Garth's, but the gleaming polished wood and shining metal fittings and lovingly preserved accessories spoke to finely-honed expertise and dedication. Most of the guns had before and after photos to document the work done, and a lot of work had been done. Some also included photos of hole-filled targets as evidence of the accuracy of the firearm.  
  
“Do you know which one is Garth's?” Claire asked.  
  
“I couldn't even guess.” They were all old guns to her.  
  
Claire, leaned in, inspected them closely. Then she pointed to a musket that had fancy silver motifs inlaid in the heavy wooden stock. “This one, I bet.”  
  
All of the names of the contestants were covered up until final prizes were awarded.  
  
“What makes you say that?” Kate peered closer at the gun.  
  
“These symbols are all hunter protection charms,” Claire said.  
  
“Oh.” That made sense. Garth was the only hunter werewolf Kate knew. She wondered if he missed hunting. She wondered if he'd ever killed a werewolf.  
  
“Where next?” Claire asked  
  
Kate scanned her surroundings, wondering what else Claire might like to see. Despite having zero equestrian tendencies, Tasha had always liked looking at the macrame and elaborately braided horse tack  
  
And then she heard music. Someone was playing a violin. It was a low, trilling, mournful song.  
  
“Hear that?” Kate asked.  
  
Claire frowned. “Hear what?”  
  
“Right. Human ears. C'mon. There's a talent competition.” Kate twisted away from the gun display and headed toward the music.  
  
The performance competition was at the far end of the building where a small raised stage had been erected along with several rows of chairs, though most of the audience was standing, lingering near some of the other displays.  
  
There in the middle of the stage was Luke. He wore neat, straight legged jeans and a button-down blue shirt (he refused to subscribe to the cowboy aesthetic), and he had a deep red violin tucked under his chin.  
  
The three judges looked bored, but Luke didn't seem to care, focused on the smooth draw of his bow across the strings. A teenage girl on the front row who was cradling a violin case was watching, rapt.  
  
“That's not very _Devil went Down to Georgia_ ,” Claire whispered.  
  
Kate raised her eyebrows.  
  
Claire shrugged, defensive. “That's the only country violin song I know.”  
  
All Kate knew about fancy violin music she'd learned from a freshman year music appreciation class. She did know that the song Luke was playing was difficult: the trills were sweet and rapid without slurring, and the double stops forcing him to play two strings at once were an advanced technique.  
  
“A competitor this year has already played the _Devil went down to Georgia_ ,” Reverend Myers said. “Luke is playing Tartini's _Sonata in G_ , more colloquially known as _The Devil's Trill_. He has a sense of humor.”  
  
“How so?” Kate asked quietly. She glanced at Claire,whose expression was carefully blank.  
  
“Every year he's played something pastoral, or at least loosely related to agriculture, like _Flight of the Bumblebee_ or a very artful medley arrangement of Vivaldi's _Four Seasons_ and every year he mourns the judges' lack of refinement. I told him maybe his oblique farming references seemed condescending or insincere, and perhaps he'd be better received if he were just himself.”  
  
“And he chose this?” Claire asked. “Does he think he's some kind of demon?”  
  
“You'd have to ask him,” Reverend Myers said. “At least he skipped most of the slower movements and kept the livelier ones. The piece is very stark without any accompaniment.”  
  
Kate wondered how he was such an authority on music when his Sunday sermons were always coupled with the most anemic-sounding singing of Protestant hymns she had ever known.  
  
Claire looked torn between taking a blatant step away from Reverend Myers and flinging some kind of hunter demon-repellent at Luke.  
  
He finished his piece with a flourish and took his bows to a smattering of applause even more anemic than the werewolves' weekly hymn.  
  
Luke knelt at the edge of the stage to wipe the rosin off his violin strings before securing the violin in an old but sturdy case. He straightened up and stepped off the stage. He paused to thank the judges while the next contestant set up her harp, and then he started for the door. Halfway there, he spotted Kate and he paused, turned toward her. But he inclined his head for Reverend Myers first, then met Kate's gaze. “Miss Kate, good evening. I do not believe I've had the pleasure of making the acquaintance of your radiant young companion.”  
  
“Luke, this is my friend Claire. Claire, this is Luke. His farm is next door to ours,” Kate said.  
  
Claire glanced between Kate and Luke, her expression unreadable, but then she smiled and offered a hand.  
  
“Nice to meet you, Mister Darcy.”  
  
Luke shook her hand politely. “Alas, whether metaphor or insult, that particular allusion always falls on deaf ears, but any friend of Kate's is a friend of mine.”  
  
“That was a pretty cool song you were playing,” Claire said. “How did you choose it?”  
  
“Someone always plays _the Devil Went Down to Georgia_ ,” Luke said, “and I thought I'd show them how a real devil plays the violin.”  
  
Claire's smile remained bright, but Kate saw ice in her eyes. “And you're a real devil?”  
  
“We all have skeletons in the closet, inner demons, and regrets,” Luke said. “One would think they'd sound ugly, but it's more painful when they sound beautiful.”  
  
Claire lifted her chin. “Do you believe in demons?”  
  
“I think humans are capable enough of evil that no supernatural impetus toward evil is necessary,” Luke said. “We fear what we don't understand, and at the end of the day we understand nothing.”  
  
Reverend Myers asked the next question before Claire could. “Do you believe in angels?”  
  
“I believe there are people in our lives who can bless us with saving grace,” Luke said. “They have no supernatural powers and we cannot make them come to our aid through prayer or summoning, but if we let them, they can save us.” He cast Kate a look she didn't understand.  
  
Claire opened her mouth to ask another question, but Reverend Myers broke in. “Well, this conversation about music took a surprising turn toward the philosophical. Good playing, son. Maybe you'll play for us at church one day?”  
  
Luke said, “When Miss Kate attends your services, I'm sure.” Amusement sparked in his grey eyes at Kate's shocked expression.  
  
“You're right! Definitely too philosophical a conversation. Claire and I need to get moving. Busy fun-filled night still to come. See you gentlemen later.” Kate caught Claire by the shoulders and started steering her toward the door.  
  
Reverend Myers's farewell was lost in the din of the crowd.  
  
Luke inclined his head politely. His voice carried, clear, as a bell. “Farewell, Miss Kate. Remember to save me a dance.”  
  
As soon as they were out of earshot, Claire said. “I think Luke likes you.”  
  
“Pretty sure he's an angst-ridden retired James Bond,” Kate said. “Let's go. To get the full fair experience, you need to get your barn dance on.”  
  
Of the two of them, Claire was the superior dancer, having more natural grace and a lack of self-consciousness. Judging by the way Claire occasionally darted a glance at a cluster of teenage boys near the stage, Kate suspected Claire's carelessness was deliberate, either to appear confident or perhaps as a defense against those who'd ostracized her for her difference in the past.  
  
Kate's new predatory werewolf grace didn't make her a better dancer, but it made her better at learning new dances. In years past, Kate and Tasha would always pick a spot in the crowd that offered them clear views of more experienced dancers without ever having to be on the front row, and they'd spend an hour stumbling through line dances and giggling. Now, though, Kate could learn a line dance in a couple of iterations.  
  
“How do you pick it up so fast?” Claire asked over the banjo-fiddle-accordion din.  
  
“I dunno. Part of being Team Jacob, I guess.”  
  
Claire missed a step and hopped from foot to foot until she could fall back in with the others. “Too bad I didn't get any awesome skills from Team Strapped-to-a-comet,” she grumbled. She said it without a flinch, busy counting heel-toe taps.  
  
When they'd first arrived at the barn with it's straw-strewn floor and hay bales for seating, Claire had looked dubious, but Kate had simply joined a line and a dance and Claire had come along. Now they'd more or less mastered five dances and the band announced it was going to take a break.  
  
Claire heaved a sigh of relief and pushed sweat-damp hair out of her eyes. “That was more of a workout than I'd expected. Let's go get some water.”  
  
There were water coolers and stacks of red solo cups in strategic places all around the room.  
  
“Sure. Drinks are a good idea.” Kate followed Claire to a cooler where a group of teenage boys were laughing and splashing each other. Claire had been watching them for most of the dancing.  
  
She cast Kate an accusatory look. “You're not even out of breath.”  
  
Kate blinked, put a hand to her chest. Huh. When was the last time she'd been out of breath? And then she remembered. Chasing a deer. In a forest. Interrupted by a phone call from a man with a southern accent who'd said he'd heard from a friend about a werewolf looking to live a non-homicidal life, and he knew how a werewolf could do that.  
  
And Kate, out of breath and hungry and hurting from the missing of her sister, had said, How?  
  
The teenage boys parted obligingly for Kate and Claire to get to the water cooler.  
  
Kate recognized some of them, because most of the kids in town worked as seasonal farm hands for planting and harvest.  
  
Claire got a drink first, and Kate watched the teenage boys out of the corner of her eyes, seeing which ones were watching Claire. A couple of the boys tipped their heads and said, “Miss Kate.”  
  
One of them said, “Who's your friend, Miss Kate?'  
  
“Or is she your sister?” another asked.  
  
Kate swallowed the lump in her throat. “Claire's a good friend of mine from out of town.”  
  
The boys tipped their heads. “Miss Claire.”  
  
She kept her expression cool and unimpressed. “Boys.”  
  
“How long till the band is back do you think?” Kate asked.  
  
“Reckon fifteen minutes of canned tunes before they're back,” one of the boys said.  
  
Another one rolled his eyes. “You know they're gonna play _Cotton-Eyed Joe_.”  
  
Claire's eyes lit up. “That's one country dance I already Know.”  
  
“Well, then we'd better make sure we do this one right.” Kate knocked back the rest of her water. “C'mon, Claire. Show us how the city kids do it.”  
  
As if on cue, violins and a techno beat filled the barn. Most of the dancers remained at the edges of the dance floor, unimpressed, but Claire threw herself into the song, so Kate joined her. She was pretty sure this song had been played at least once at every school dance ever, and it was a line dance she knew by heart.  
  
Claire threw her head back and laughed, and her entire face lit up. Kate couldn't remember the last time she saw anyone smiling with that kind of abandon.  
  
Halfway through the chorus a couple more girls drifted onto the dance floor, and after a brief, harried conference some of the teenage boys followed. When the time came to pick partners for the circle dance, a teenage boy caught Claire by the hand and spun her into his arms.  
  
Kate hesitated, but everyone else had a partner. Well, no reason she couldn't dance this section on her own. And then someone touched her elbow, and Luke was spinning her into his embrace.  
  
“Miss Kate,” he said, “pardon my intrusion, but you were without a partner.”  
  
“Luke?” Kate blinked but fell into step with him. “I didn't think you were the techno country type.”  
  
“I am the dancing with fine ladies type.” Luke moved with grace and precision, like he'd been trained to it from childhood. Maybe he had.  
  
When the next verse started, Claire fell into line beside Kate, her new dance partner beside her. When Claire saw Luke she waggled her eyebrows at Kate, but then the boy caught her hand and showed her how to line dance as a pair.  
  
By the second chorus the dance floor was packed, and Kate lost Claire in the crowd. She didn't care, because energy was singing under her skin the way it did before a full moon, and Kate never gave in, never joined the others on a pack run, but this was something she could give in to.  
  
When the song ended the dancers broke into cheers, to the surprise of the musicians.  
  
“Thank you, Miss Kate, for saving me a dance,” Luke said. He led her to the sidelines. He was flushed from exertion, but not a strand of hair was out of place.  
  
“You're welcome, Luke.” Kate smiled at him. Then she paused. “You always call me Miss Kate, and I never call you anything but Luke and I feel like I've been...impolite.”  
  
“Ah. You're asking after my surname.” Amusement curled the corners of his mouth. “I think you're the first to ask out of anything besides a desire to contribute to local gossip mongering.” He sank down on a nearby hay bale, and Kate sat beside him. “There were once three branches of faith in my family - the beautiful, the pure, and the bad. But over time beauty fades, purity is corrupted, and only the bad survives. For a long time I took much pride in having bad faith, because that was better than no faith, and eventually I realized that to survive this world what I needed was faith itself, simple and unadorned, and therefore, if you wish, you may call me Mr. Foy.”  
  
Luke Foy. It didn't sound real. It sounded - incomplete. But even though Reverend Myers called her Sister Katherine, as far as anyone knew, she was just Kate. And Claire was just Claire. Uh-oh. Where was Claire? “Pleasure to properly make your acquaintance, Mr. Foy,” Kate said.  
  
“It is always a pleasure to bask in your presence, Miss Kate.” Luke smiled. He started to rise, and Kate caught his arm.  
  
“Luke, what is faith?”  
  
“A wise man once said it is hope for things which are not seen which are true. It requires not perfect knowledge but hope.”  
  
Kate stared at him. “What does that even mean?”  
  
“It means that those of us who were born or made monsters can be redeemed, and that there is more good in this world than bad, and what you think you know will never be as big or as powerful as what you can believe in. Now, Miss Kate, I suspect Miss Claire need some looking after.” Luke leaned in, brushed a kiss against her cheek, and was gone.  
  
Kate stared after him, flummoxed, and then shouts from the edge of the dance floor caught her attention.  
  
“I asked her first.”  
  
“No, I asked her first.”  
  
Kate saw Claire standing near a water cooler surrounded by boys. Her hands were curled into fists, and she looked ready to run - or fight. Kate crossed the floor in a few quick strides. “Gentlemen, what seems to be the problem?”  
  
They turned to her, their protests dying on their lips. “We want to dance with Claire,” one of them said.  
  
Kate raised her eyebrows. “Claire, do you want to dance with them?”  
  
“Not if they're going to fight over me.”  
  
Kate fished her phone out of her pocket. “All right. Here's how it's going to work. Claire and I have things we're going to be doing later, so we can't stay here all night. I'm going to make a dance card for Claire. You will tell me your name and allow me to take a picture of you. You will be allocated one and only one dance with Claire. I will select you at random, regardless of previous requests to dance. You must bring Claire back to this spot after each dance. If you fail to report here for your dance within fifteen seconds of the next song you forfeit your dance and your photo will be deleted. If you do not bring Claire back to this spot within fifteen seconds of the last song ending, your photo will be deleted and that will be the end of your interaction with Claire for the duration of her visit. If you do well, Claire and I will talk about you during our sleepover.” Kate beckoned to a short, stocky boy with sandy hair. “You first. Get over here - light's better here. What's your name? Ben? Excellent. Next!”  
  
By the the time Kate was done the band was ready to play again. Claire, who’d hung back during the flurry of photography and name-taking, sidled up to Kate.  
  
“Um. Wow. That was kinda scary. But impressive.”  
  
“I'm not sure where that came from myself,” Kate admitted. “But hey, we can gossip about boys tonight.”  
  
“Including Luke, right?” Claire grinned.  
  
Before Kate could respond, the band struck up a chord, and Ben came to claim his dance.  
  
Kate wondered if she'd missed her calling in life as a drill sergeant, because every single boy was punctual for his dance, and they were afraid to meet Kate's gaze.  
  
An hour and a half later, Claire was saying goodbye to her final dance partner.  
  
“That was surreal,” Claire said. “That was like something out of a teen movie.” She trotted beside Kate as they headed for the parking lot. “Is that what we're going to do next - watch teen movies and talk about boys?”  
  
“And eat junk food and paint each others nails,” Kate said. She eyed Claire apprehensively. “You up for it?”  
  
“Yeah. I've never done it before. What movies will we be watching?”  
  
“A couple of classics,” Kate said. “ _My Fair Lady_ and _the Last Unicorn_.”  
  
“Those aren't teen movies.”  
  
“Nope. But Audrey Hepburn is a cultural icon and there's no such thing as unicorns, and there is great music all around.”  
  
Claire nodded. “Okay.”  


 

*

  
During movie time, Kate learned that Claire's dexterous artists hands made her great at painting nails. Claire learned that Kate was pretty handy with a camera when they decided to make a very short movie of themselves doing dramatic readings of magazine quizzes (Claire was a rebel without a cause flirt, and Kate needed a bad boy to complement her modern, forward-thinking attitude).  
  
_My Fair Lady_ was a surprising hit with Claire, who'd never been exposed to musicals beyond the usual childhood Disney fare. Everything was fine with _the Last Unicorn_ up till the moment the wizard turned the unicorn into a girl.  
  
“What the hell was that?”  
  
“He did it to save her,” Kate said.  
  
Claire shook her head. Her face was pale. “No. You don't do that to someone against their will. You don't change them or do something to them that huge. Not like that.”  
  
Kate paused the DVD. “Hey it's just a cartoon. It's not -”  
  
“No. Its not right. How could he do that to her?”  
  
“To save her,” Kate said quietly. “Better to turn her into a human to save her than into a monster.”  
  
Claire bit her lip. “Oh. Your sister. I'm sorry. I didn't mean -”  
  
“She said yes. She didn't know what she was getting into. Neither of us did.”  
  
Claire curled in on herself. “I said yes to Castiel. I had to. But how could I have known? How could any of us have known it would be like that?”  
  
Kate wasn't sure what to do. Did Claire need a hug? Or space? Or - “We can turn off the movie, if you like.”  
  
Claire eyed the frozen image on the screen. “Does it end badly? Does the change ruin her?”  
  
“No,” Kate said. “The change allows her to learn things she couldn't have, otherwise.”  
  
“And is she better for it?”  
  
“Better, yes. Happier, maybe not.”  
  
Claire sat back clutching one of Kate's throw pillows to her chest. “Let’s see, then.”  
  
Claire was quiet after the movie ended, so Kate left her alone while she went to the kitchen to dish up some bowls of Rocky Road. Claire came into the kitchen just as Kate finished laying out all the ice cream toppings she'd bought - whipped cream, sprinkles, maraschino cherries, and three flavors of syrup.  
  
“So,” Claire said, “she got to be a unicorn again. That's good.”  
  
“Yeah. She - there's a sequel. A short story, not a movie. She's always a unicorn, but she still loves Lear.” Kate nudged a bowl toward Claire. “Pick your poison.”  
  
Claire began piling toppings on her ice cream. “So, what have you learned from being a werewolf that you could never have learned as a plain old human?”  
  
Kate stared at her bowl of ice cream. “I'm still not sure on that. Can I get back to you?”  
  
“Sure.”  
  
“And what did you learn from your time with Castiel?”  
  
“Too much. More than anyone human should.”  
  
“Did you learn anything that made you better?”  
  
“Can I get back to you?”  
  
“Sure.”  


 

*

  
The next morning, Kate and Claire had a late breakfast at a diner that sourced all its ingredients from local family farms. It was a favorite for a lot of the local farmers and farmhands - including some of the boys Claire had danced with the night before.  
  
Kate was pouring copious amounts of syrup on her Belgian Waffle when one of the farmhands from another booth approached their table, clutching a dusty baseball cap in white knuckled hands.  
  
“Miss Kate,” he said, and Claire and Kate both looked at him in surprise.  
  
“I'm Jamie Ramirez,” He said. “I'm one of Mister Foy's regulars. He said we're all supposed to respect you and your friends. And Claire is your friend. I was wondering if I could talk to Claire. When you're finished.” He looked nervous but not afraid.  
  
Claire arched an eyebrow at him, and Kate said, “That depends on what Claire wants.”  
  
“I'm on a pretty tight schedule to catch my bus,” Claire said, “but you were fun to dance with, and I think you're kinda cute. Kate?”  
  
Kate glanced at her watch. “Jamie, how about you sit here, and I'll sit with your friends, and when Claire's done I'll take her to the bus.” Kate scooped up her plate, drink, and silverware, and headed to the booth where Jamie's friends were sitting. Kate sat in his place with as much dignity as she could muster and arranged her dishes.  
  
“Miss Kate,” the other three boys chorused politely.  
  
“Gentlemen. How are things with Luke?”  
  
The boys told her, in quiet stammers, how Luke's crops were coming along and how he'd practiced his violin solo extra in the week leading up to the county fair. Eventually, conversation fizzled out, and Kate ate in contemplative silence. She still didn't have an answer to Claire's question from the night before.  
  
A waitress approaching Kate with the check alerted her to the fact that Claire had finished her breakfast - and her conversation with Jamie.  
  
“Thanks for the company, gentlemen,” Kate said, throwing down some money.  
  
Jamie walked Claire out to Kate's car and then he hurried to meet his friends.  
  
“So?” Kate asked. She slid into the driver's seat.  
  
“He's cute. Nice, But we both have school and work, and I don't think long distance relationships are my thing.”  
  
“Fair enough,” Kate said.  
  
They settled into amiable silence, Claire watching the streets pass by.  
  
At the bus depot, Kate hugged Claire goodbye.  
  
“Good luck at school. Call or text or whatever if you ever need homework help.”  
  
“Thanks,” Claire said. “Good luck with farming and whatever it is you do.”  
  
Kate swallowed the sudden lump in her throat. What was she doing with her life? “Be safe.”  
  
“You too. And kiss Luke sometime, would you?”  
  
Kate squawked indignantly. “What?”  
  
But Claire, cackling gleefully, hurried onto the bus.  


 

*

  
In the weeks that followed, Kate's life resolved into a dull pattern. Every day she woke up, did her chores around the farm, and went to bed. Sometimes she wandered into town to indulge in junk food. Occasionally she read a book or watched a movie. Once a week she called Claire. Claire would vent about the frustrations of regular high school and how dealing with foster kids was so much easier (familiar, she meant, but Kate didn't mention it). Kate would update Claire on how the farm and pack were doing. She avoided any mention of Luke, but she did include tales of her weekly round of Dodging Reverend Myers. Kate also followed up on any email or text message exchanges they had during the week when Claire had questions about her homework. Sheriff Mills’s other foster daughter, Alex, was even further behind in school than Claire and Sheriff Mills's son had still been in grade school when he died, so neither of them were much help with math, science, or Latin. Claire was competent at both English and History, because those made sense to her, and she excelled in art and PE.  
  
Kate sprawled on her couch one Friday evening, contemplating her DVD collection. No one would watch _Amelie_ with her. Bess liked movie adaptations of Dickens, Austen, and other nineteenth-century authors; Garth liked comedies.  
  
Her cellphone rang. As a spot of humor, the ring tone she'd set for Claire was Shakira's _She Wolf_. The look on Reverend Myers's face whenever Claire called was worth every penny Kate had spent on the custom ring tone.  
  
Kate scooped up her phone and accepted the call with a swipe of her thumb. “Hello.”  
  
“Hey, Kate?”  
  
The hesitation in Claire's voice brought Kate up short. She sat up. “What's up?”  
  
“Did you ever figure it out?”  
  
“Uh...that irregular declension thing?”  
  
“No. Did you figure out why you got turned into a werewolf? What it was you could only learn by being a werewolf?”  
  
Kate closed her eyes and sighed. She'd thought on this question often, but it was always overshadowed by the other question: what are you doing with your life?  
  
“I haven't figured it out yet. What about you?”  
  
“Me neither. I keep asking and asking and asking myself and I don't know. Sure I've met interesting people, met hunters and learned lore, but I didn't have to get possessed by an angel to do that. I didn't have to lose my family for that.”  
  
Damn. Was Claire crying? “So...let me ask you something.” Kate chose her words carefully. “Do you believe everything happens for a reason?”  
  
“It might've before Sam and Dean screwed up their destinies and the apocalypse.”  
  
Kate, who hadn't grown up believing in anything remotely religious, was still wrestling with the fact that the apocalypse was an actual thing. Thinking of angels and demons as just one more supernatural thing out there was easy, but the fact that God and the apocalypse were actual things - but not really how anyone imagined them - was still a little staggering.  
  
“Well...do you believe in right and wrong? Good and evil?”  
  
“I don't know. I mean, angels are supposed to be good, but angels got my parents killed.”  
  
“Then does it matter whether you're good or not?” Kate was always glad to play devil's advocate, as it were. Once upon a time, she'd wanted to be a lawyer.  
  
“Well, yes,” Claire said.  
  
“Why? If there's no such thing as right and wrong or good and evil, why does it matter what we do? What any of us do?”  
  
“There's Heaven and Hell, though.”  
  
“And as it turns out, you can do a lot of stuff people say is wrong and get into Heaven.”  
  
“True.” Claire's voice lost some of its wavering. “But there's still some good and some bad in the world.”  
  
“So it would seem.”  
  
“And knowing what I know about Heaven and Hell, I know better about what really is good and bad,” Claire said, and her voice was even firmer. “But still, just being a hunter could have taught me all that.”  
  
Kate hummed thoughtfully. “Okay. Well, do you still have faith?”  
  
“In what?”  
  
“In anything.”  
  
Claire snorted. “Why would I? Faith killed my father and destroyed my family. Every night, I prayed for a year for my father to come. Not a single angel answered, and they're real. They've always been real and they've never answered anyone.”  
  
“Except Sam and Dean.”  
  
”Yeah, and...actually, I kind of remember Castiel has answered prayers before,” Claire said softly. “He could access my memories and stuff, but I think he was bad at understanding how to use them. I could kinda see into him, too, but he was so big and so bright, and it didn't quite hurt, but it was - scary. And I think he used to answer prayers. But then the angels stopped. They all stopped, and I don't know why.”  
  
“I couldn't begin to guess,” Kate admitted.  
  
“Hey, Kate?”  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“I know you didn't before, because you weren't a believer, but do you have faith now?”  
  
Kate closed her eyes and thought of beautiful faith, and pure faith, and bad faith, and hope. “I think I could, if I found the right thing to have faith in.”  
  
Claire sighed. “Yeah. That's the hard part. Hey, do you think maybe God left because people stopped believing?”  
  
Kate huffed. “What, that he took off like a sulky girl whose prom date ditched her?”  
  
“Well Jody said Zeus and Cronos and Vesta all went kinda crazy after they lost their believers,” Claire said. “Maybe God knew people had stopped believing and he left before he went crazy?”  
  
Kate wondered if Claire had told herself that while her father was gone. But she said, “Maybe.”  
  
Claire signed. “It's just - fall break is coming up and all the girls are talking about the Halloween dance and what their costumes will be, and none of it matters. What matters?”  
  
“People matter,” Kate said automatically. “Although I'm sure plenty of people would be hard pressed to consider me people.”  
  
“You're a person, just not human,” Claire said, and the absolute conviction of her tone was startling. And heartwarming.  
  
Kate smiled. “Tell you what. I'll have faith in you and you have faith in me and Jody and whoever else you trust, and we go from there?”  
  
“Okay. But...how do I do that?”  
  
“Have hope,” Kate said. “Hope that the people in your life love you and are reliable, and every time they are, you'll know your faith is worth it.”  
  
Claire was quiet for so long that Kate thought the call had dropped. She tugged her phone away from her ear to check, and then Claire spoke.  
  
“I can do that. But what about you?”  
  
Kate frowned. “What do you mean?”  
  
“Who else will you have faith in, besides me?”  
  
That gave Kate pause. She wasn't the one having a crisis of faith, so she didn't need to build a source of faith out of as many friends and loved ones as possible. But did that mean she couldn't believe in Garth or Bess or anyone else?  
  
She settled on, “I don't know,” as her answer. “If I think up anyone else, I'll let you know.”  
  
“What about Luke?” Claire's tone was sly.  
  
Kate recalled her most recent encounter with Luke, him bringing vegetables for Bess, Kate helping him haul crates into the kitchen, him being surprised at her strength and her noticing, for the first time, the pale white scars on the inside of his left forearm that formed a picture Kate couldn't quite make out, but that made her...inexplicably uneasy. He'd rolled down his sleeves with deliberate casualness and she'd let him carry the harvest crates, and they'd said their goodbyes with a gentle informality that had struck Kate as strangely intimate.  
  
“Maybe one day,” Kate said, “when we've overcome the weight of our respective secrets.”  
  
Claire sounded dubious. “If you say so. Hey, can I come visit you for fall break?”  
  
“Sure, if Jody says it's all right. You'll be in time to help with the last of the harvest.”  
  
“Sounds fun.” Claire's enthusiasm sounded genuine. “Hey, Kate?”  
  
“Yes. “  
  
“Think by then you'll have figured out what being a werewolf has done for you?”  
  
“Maybe,” Kate said.  
  
“Think about it, okay?”  
  
What Kate needed to think about was being a werewolf. Because she'd never transformed all the way. Ever.  
  
“Okay,” she said.  


 

*

  
When Claire arrived for fall break, Kate still didn't have an answer for Claire, because she was still figuring out what it meant to be a werewolf. She could tell Claire that she'd started joining the bitten on their full moon pack run (plenty of the born and pure-blood joined in as well, if only to keep the bitten in line when they were fully given over to the wolf). She wouldn't tell Claire that she hadn't known that lycanthropes kept their clothes on through the change and that she and Luke had had a very awkward encounter when he'd stumbled upon her disrobing near the pack's rendezvous spot.  
  
Luke still blushed every time he saw her. Bess was highly apologetic for not explaining. Garth had told Luke that some of the farm girls participated in very traditional harvest and fertility rituals that required the participants to be sky clad. Luke started blushing every time he saw Bess too.  
  
“What was up with that?” Claire asked as Kate led her away from the diner.  
  
“Who knows?” Kate said lightly. “Anyway, I have a favor to ask.”  
  
“Me too.”  
  
“You first.”  
  
“No, you, please.”  
  
Kate jammed her hands into her pockets. “I want to make a documentary about being a werewolf. About being part of this pack. I can teach you how to choose and use a good camera.”  
  
Claire blinked. “Okay. Sure. What brought this on?”  
  
“I've been thinking. How can I learn from being a werewolf if I never have actually been a werewolf?”  
  
Claire nodded. “That makes sense.”  
  
“And I'm thinking maybe the movie will be helpful to others who are bitten. Or hunters. Or anyone who dates a werewolf, or whatever.” More useful than her battered notebook full of notes from question time with Bess and Reverend Myers - though Kate hadn’t stopped writing in it.  
  
Claire said, “Sam dated a werewolf for like, a day.”  
  
“Oh?” Kate raised her eyebrows.  
  
“Then he had to shoot her because she was too afraid to do it herself.”  
  
Kate flinched. The less said about Sam and Dean the better. “What was your favor?”  
  
Claire ducked her head. “I was wondering if you'd come to church with me?”  
  
“...Really?” Kate tried to keep any disapproval out of her voice.  
  
“Sometimes on the weekends Jody goes hunting with some buddy cop of hers and she makes me keep an eye on Alex because somehow I'm the more responsible one, and Alex goes to church to learn prayers and so I started going with her, and...” Claire trailed off, hunching her shoulders.  
  
“Do you mean the lycanthrope new-age feel-good session at Bess and Garth's house, or -”  
  
“The service Reverend Myers does for everyone else, at the church,” Claire said.  
  
Kate nodded. “Okay. Um. I'll probably need to buy me a church dress. And I need to make a call.”  
  
“To who?”  
  
“To Luke.”  
  
By Sunday, Kate and Claire had shot ten hours of footage - mostly them helping with the last of the harvest - and Kate had a new set of church clothes.  
  
Claire had been shocked at the sight of Luke, wearing a smart black suit and a shirt so white it almost glowed, standing beside the piano Garth played and accompanying the hymns he played. Maybe it was Kate's imagination, but the congregation's singing seemed livelier.  
  
Kate bowed her head during the portion of the service that invited silent contemplation or prayer. If she hadn't been peering sidelong at Claire, she wouldn't have witnessed the way her lips moved silently or the way her hands were clasped in prayer. Kate would have dismissed the sound of mighty wings if she hadn't seen the man who suddenly appeared on the other side of Claire. He had mussed dark hair, a tan overcoat, and blue eyes just like Claire's when he smiled at her. Then he also bowed his head as if in prayer, and for a moment the shadow on the wall behind him looked like giant feathered wings.

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to my amazing transcriptionist, my family's patience, and Lenore, Vicki, and Jessica.


End file.
